


In the beginning...

by AtlinMerrick



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Everything is up for grabs…gender race time place, Multi, They are beings divine they contain multitudes, Though marked finished it is open-ended, each chapter stands alone, the conceit here is they meet for the first time again and again through the mutli-verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2020-06-28 07:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19807969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/pseuds/AtlinMerrick
Summary: God, a being of endless curiosities, was not content with creatingauniverse, heavens no. Instead, in the beginning She went and made many, and in each She placed an angel of hair white and one of red.These are the stories of how those two meet.Again and again and again.





	1. Faster Than Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Verity Burns](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Verity+Burns).



In the beginning…God created the heavens and the earth and all that in them is.

She, a being of endless curiosities, was not content with creating _a_ universe however, no. Instead she did what the astronomers are only in this last century figuring out with their colliders and black holes and deep philosophies—of universes She went and made many.

And, just like the astronomers have guessed, the possibilities of life and laws are absolutely endless in each and every one of these universes. For example, here in this one there can be no faster than light travel.

In the universe just beside ours there is no anti-matter, despite the fact that in every other such a possibility is impossible.

In yet a third universe there are no asteroids at all, for so rare are planets and moons and suchlike that nothing has ever—not one time _ever—_ collided with anything else.

There's a universe that, from one far end to the vastness of the other, there has never existed the letter J.

Still, despite these differences big and small, most universes are somewhat the same where it matters: In each Life arises, it busies itself with living, it dies and fades away, then something else is born instead. It too lives, is busy, it dies and so on.

With all of that living and dying, it stands to reason that in every universe God has made there must be the concepts of heaven and of hell, of angels and demons, of virtue and temptation.

And _that_ in turn leads to this: In every universe She has created there must be an angel called Aziraphale aka A. Z. Fell, and there must be a demon named Anthony Crowley nee Crawley. And though each of these creatures has their purpose, however ineffable, it also stands to reason that, even in a universe without the letter J or in one where the asteroid named Mr Spock doesn't exist, this demon and this angel have a very, very good chance of meeting.

Sit tight now, for here follow a few of the stories recorded of how these two meet in universe after universe after universe.

_In the beginning there was an angel of hair white and one of red…_

_—  
I have a teensy weensy fondness for [first meetings](https://twitter.com/AtlinMerrick/status/1042539598671425537). When I realised there is the concept of the multi-verse I also realised that our favourite angel and demon could meet each other in a new when and where again and again—thank you Verity for pointing the way. I'd love it if you prompted one of their meetings. P.S. There really is an asteroid named Mr Spock. You're welcome. (Also, though this is marked finished because each chapter stands alone, it's open ended and will have many more chapters.)_


	2. A Proclamation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Across all earths and in every universe, there comes a time when good and bad change places. 
> 
> It was about to happen now, right now, in Dublin, Ireland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Marlon

Across all earths and in every universe, there comes a time when good and bad change places.

It was about to happen now, right now, in Dublin, Ireland.

“Kiss her,” Crowley whispered into a young woman’s ear. He knew the instinct for self-preservation would prevent her from so much as holding her lover’s hand. Yet even if the two women kissed, Crowley also knew that of those gathered around the marchers, so very many were so very ready to be what they've always been: angry. Intolerant.

On an earth entirely different to this one, a day very much _like_ this one will happen in Johannesburg in 1972.

“Hold his hand,” Aziraphale whispered into the old man’s ear, because love can beget love he knows, and today so many eyes might be opened to the simple beauty of _this,_ of a love between two men that has lasted into their bent-backed old age.

On yet another earth, the first march of this kind will happen in 1970, in front of New York City's Stonewall Inn. An angel and a demon will be there too, but now, on _this_ earth, the first gay pride parade was happening in Dublin, Ireland on a cold spring morning in 1964.

The crowd around them was larger in number than the marchers themselves but four hundred Irish women and men held tight to one another's hands, ready. Though no voice raised itself higher than any other, as one they began their march down the broad thoroughfare that led through the heart of their city.

Many of them had grandparents still living who remembered the Rising which had brought them their free Republic. Most knew of the proclamation that had come from that, a document that named women equal with men long before others did the same.

So why not this, too? Why not gay rights?

They marched, and none of them needed an angel or a demon whispering them to kisses or to courage, the memorial statues lining O'Connell Street did that, the lover beside them did that, _they_ would do this, they would make their own history.

The angel and demon realised it at the same time: they weren't needed here. Today good would change places with bad on its own. As they so often do, humans were taking matters into their own hands.

So Aziraphale fell back, and back further, until he found himself on the Ha'penny Bridge, watching the River Liffey run slow.

"Do you wonder how many other changes this river's seen?"

Aziraphale's eyes went wide but he didn't look at the man now beside him. He knew who Crowley was, had seen that red hair across treaty tables, behind battle lines and, because like recognises like, he knew Crowley had been an angel once.

The bridge was small but not _so_ small, so Aziraphale stepped a little to the right. It seemed polite to make room. "Do you?"

Crowley took off his glasses and leaned over the wrought iron railing, as if he could see history in the dark water. "Not really." He looked beside him and smiled right on up to his pretty yellow eyes, because like recognises like. He knew here stood a disobedient creature like himself, full of will. "I've been here for most of them. Just like you."

Aziraphale blushed; so he'd not been the only one noticing. "Have you ever…" He paused. Should he? Wasn't it…wrong? To, you know? With _him?_

Crowley waited patiently, a virtue soon rewarded.

"Look, have you ever had toasted barmbrack? With Irish butter? And a perfect cup of tea?" Aziraphale covered his mouth as if he'd said a string of obscenities.

Crowley slid his glasses up his nose, stepped away from the railing, and sketched a small bow. They fell into step beside each other.

"You see, I know of a wonderful place by the Olympia and—"

They walked awhile and talked twice that, and Crowley never did tell Aziraphale he'd sort of helped invent barmbrack way back when, fomenting a fight between rival bakers. It didn't matter in the end though, because Aziraphale was so very right.

He really _did_ know a wonderful place.

_—  
This is for Marlon because we love the same place. With the biggest thank you to ScienceofObsession for prompting San Francisco 1960, which turned into this, you angel. By the way, Ireland's [proclamation](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Proclamation_of_the_Irish_Republic#/media/File:Easter_Proclamation_of_1916.png) really does name women right up there at the very top, and Ireland also gave women the right to vote before the US did. Finally, as this is a new fandom for me I'd like to invite anyone in it to read Spark, the free [fandom-writing newsletter](https://spark-by-improbable-press.tumblr.com/post/185507475764/spark-newsletter-archive-the-free-fandom-writing) I help edit and and and—to write about fandom and writing for it should you wish!_


	3. Above the Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A city from the sea rises… 
> 
> …and a demon does a good deed for an angel. 
> 
> Sort of.

_One, two, three…breathe._

_One, two, three…breathe._

_One, two, three…"Ouch!"_

Anthony J Crowley, demon, fell onto his arse and into the retreating tide. He clamped a hand over his mouth and glared at the man who'd bit him.

Struggling to sit up, Aziraphale, angel, glared right back. "What on earth were you doing?"

Eyebrows shooting right on up, Crowley yanked his hand from his mouth and shouted, "You were drowning! I saved you!"

"I _can't_ drown, I'm an angel," said the angel, flapping wet wings while fastidiously brushing sand from his waistcoat. This just left the sand in his hair, on his face, and in his shoes.

"How was I supposed to know that when you were under water? And anyway you didn't have to bite me." Crowley stuck out his tongue and tried to look at it.

Aziraphale looked contrite. "I'm sorry. I was startled. You startled me."

Crowley made a grumpy mouth noise and stood up, brushing sand off his jeans. That just left the sand in his hair, on his face, and in his shoes. He squinted yellow eyes, then reached out.

Once the angel was on his feet, the demon grinned. "I'm Crowley, by the way."

Aziraphale took the again-offered hand. "Aziraphale. And thank you by the way. I'm sorry I…" He gestured at Crowley's mouth.

Before either could say more, they both turned toward the lazy thrum of distant helicopters, all coming toward Atlantis as it continued its rise from the sea.

Crowley gestured to the sparkling city behind them. "So what happened back there?"

After fidgeting his bowtie straight, his collar flat, and his hair just-so, Aziraphale then looked at his nails, the sky, a purple starfish near his foot, and finally at the man next to him. "If you _must_ know, the sovereign hit me with her selfie-stick. I may have swooned."

Oh he tried, Crowley really did try not to laugh, but hooting and prancing around on the shore was not exactly kinder. "What did you do to Her Nibs to make her do _that?"_

"I tried to take her stick thingy away!"

"Hey, I _gave_ her that."

"I know! I knew who you were before you said a single word!" Aziraphale turned around and gestured at the sun-dappled domes of the ancient city. "I'm sure you're tempting them with the most awful modern… _enticements._ Selfie-sticks and canned chicken and Instagram."

"Oi, what's wrong with Instagram?" Crowley put his hands in his pockets and tried to look suave. "I have _ten_ followers. Maybe four of those are Hastur though. I think the rest are your mob."

Aziraphale waved at two little girls up on the ramparts of a glittering castle. They waved back, the gossamer webs between their little fingers catching the afternoon light. "Now they're above the waves I want the Atlanteans to understand they don't _have_ to engage in all of that to be happy. I want them to figure it out for themselves, instead of trying to be _famous."_

Angel and demon watched as a dozen helicopters flew over their heads. News crews.

Crowley fetched his sunglasses from a coat pocket, put them on, and started walking backward down the shore. "I think it's not up to us any more angel. It's up to them."

Aziraphale looked at the reborn city. The little girls were gone, a helicopter now sat where they'd been. He looked back down the shore and watched Crowley until only his bright red hair could be made out in the lowering sun.

Smiling just a bit, Aziraphale touched his mouth.

—  
_Thank you to Sabrina_Phynn and to Norma_de_Plume, both whom prompted Atlantis for one of these chapters. One of my favourite things about Good Omens is how, almost always, it's really up to the humans what happens, despite the angel and the demon._


	4. Actualise Your Inner Involution to Channel Transcendental Revelation!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *cough* 
> 
> Exactly what it says on the tin...

"Fish?"

"Fish."

_"Fish?"_

"Fish."

"I was _literally_ inside the wires, Hastur. I slithered through the entire damned sound system and I promise you, those speakers, Christ’s mic, none of it was gonna work." Crowley gestured at the forty thousand-capacity stadium around them. "He wasn't gonna reach the first five rows much less the back bleachers and you had to go with _fish?"_

"Fish."

And loaves. Neither of them mentioned that part because that wasn't the part Hastur had infested with Clostridium botulinum. No, the Duke of Hell left the bread loaves alone and somehow got a stadium full of devotees of today's hot new guru—Mr Jesus Christ, delayed in Lisbon traffic—to chow down on a bunch of smoked haddock while they waited for their motivational seminar to begin.

The fishy food poisoning was fast. Probably hellish intervention, that. By the time Christ was paying his cabbie he and that taxi were surrounded, caught in a flood of followers streaming out every one of the stadium's exits. Some of those followers were…uh…streaming from their exits, too.

That was an hour ago. Now Crowley stood beside his fellow demon while metaphorical crickets filled the vast, empty stadium.

Actually…

Anthony J Crowley, fallen angel, sometimes snake, and not nearly as good at being bad as he was supposed to be, took off his sunglasses and squinted.

There, way the hell back, like totally in the stadium's nosebleeds, someone was…what was the madman doing? Crowley closed one snakey eye and peered harder.

"Is there someone back there righting forty thousand chairs one by one?"

Hastur didn't even turn. Instead he smoothed the evil moustache he didn't have, opened a vortex, said "Later, loser," and vanished.

Crowley wrinkled his mouth in a moue, sing-songed, "later loser," to the empty space, then kicked a broken baguette into the swirling vortex just before it closed.

"I hope it hits you in the head," he muttered, then looked around. He tilted his head, tilted it again. Was that actual crickets?

Yes, there they wer—no. Yes. No. Yes—ah! It was the scrape of wood on the floor each time that someone over there in the nosebleeds righted another chair.

Crowley snapped his fingers. "What're you doing."

Aziraphale, angel of heaven and recent provider of very nice loaves of bread to a gathered crowd of thousands, clutched his heart. "Oh my lord you startled me."

Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets pointed at a chair with his chin. "Why don't you just perform a miracle to stand them all upright."

Like recognises like, of course it does. So Crowley knew Aziraphale was what he himself used to be. He held out a hand. "Crowley."

Aziraphale reached back, with a sigh. "Aziraphale. And I'm trying to not feel awful about the mess I made of this. I thought a little bit of exercise would help. "

Crowley looked at a stadium full of forty thousand hastily vacated chairs, every last one tipped over, some stacked on others, some stacked on piles of baguettes which were in turn stacked on spore-riddled fish. The part of him that wasn't very good at being bad bent over and started righting chairs.

"The loaves were my idea," Aziraphale said. "I thought people might fill up on bread first, you know? People _love_ fresh-baked bread. I certainly do. But they snacked on those infernal _fish._ Do you think I should have provided butter?"

They straightened a half dozen chairs.

"Well, the Portuguese _are_ in the top ten for fish consumers in the world, so I think the decks were stacked against you no matter what."

They straightened more chairs.

"Now you want voracious bread eaters, that'd be Turkey. They really love their bread, oh yeah. Way ahead of the closest competition. No contest, nope."

Crowley scraped a couple more chairs to rights (they really did sound like crickets) before he noticed the silence. He turned to find Aziraphale sitting on a chair, dabbing his brow with an embroidered handkerchief. He smiled wanly and patted his tummy. "I'm afraid I'm not as fit as I used to be."

Crowley took a seat across from the angel, extended black wings wide, and began to fan them both. "I avoid exercise. Can't possibly be good for you." The demon snapped his fingers, miracling 39,951 chairs upright. They gazed over the pristine stadium.

"Shame Christ didn't get to give his seminar. He's a good speaker."

Aziraphale caught himself leaning into the gentle breeze of the demon's wings, pressed a hand to a blushing cheek and flustered himself to standing. "Yes, well, I'm sure he'll try again. If at first you don't succeed and all that." He held out a hand. "Thank you for your help by the way, I'll be going now."

The demon held the angel's hand, leaned in, said conspiratorially. "I can take you to the biggest butter producer on earth if you like. So you're prepared for next time."

Aziraphale frowned, blinked, frowned harder…then grinned bright as the sun. Reflexively Crowley pawed for his sunglasses but entirely forgot to put them on. "You'd do that? For me? How wonderful!"

Crowley made some sort of mouth noise of denial, then grinned wide, snapped his fingers, and they were off.

British Columbia was very nice this time of year.

—  
_This is marked finished but will be open-ended, each chapter standing alone! And yes, Portugal is in the top ten of fish consumers, Turkey is number one in eating bread, and Canada makes the most butter. You're welcome!_


	5. All Dressed Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm Aziraphale, do we know each other?" 
> 
> Crowley turned, peered over his sunglasses, and said, "Uh, no. I was just sauntering by when your friend over there decided we're getting married."

Crowley sauntered past the window ten times.

Back and forth, back and forth he went, hips swinging left, hips swinging right. Because he was practicing. His sauntering.

Because the Crowley of _this_ multi-verse version of earth had been a snake for so many years lately, that he felt a bit rusty with legs. So Crowley sauntered awhile to make sure he walked like the humans walked. (He didn't. He never will.)

With all that practicing and swinging and sauntering, the demon did not see what was just on the other side of the polished plate glass window in front of which he paced, no he did not.

So back and forth, back and forth, hips left, hips right. Ten more times, then ten times more than that, until finally a tiny bell tinkled merrily. In reflex Crowley looked up; before their Fall, Lucifer had really had a thing for bells. Used to drive Crowley (nee Crawley) out of his wits some days, all that tinkle-tinkle-tinkle. Now he kind of missed it.

So as he sauntered, Crowley reflexively looked heaven-ward at the celestial sound, so he didn't see the woman in front of him until he tripped into her.

From his place on her lap, one lanky limb tangled between the footplates of her wheelchair, the other somehow over the left armrest, Crowley blink-blinked behind his glasses and down into the face of fury.

"Why do you keep sauntering outside my store like a maniac?" Fury demanded.

Not many people can recognise a saunter from, say, a stroll so Crowley was briefly pleased that the stranger whose lap he currently straddled could spot the difference between ambulations. Then Crowley realised he was straddling a stranger's lap.

"Yeah, um, sorry." Crowley untangled, stood tall, brushed down his lapels. Then, only then, _finally_ then, the demon glanced into the shop and saw what he had not before seen.

Wedding dresses. Hundreds of exceedingly fine wedding dresses in a dozen winsome colours from purest white to barely blue.

And standing on a dais inside, twisting back and forth to admire the flair of silken skirts round his ankles, stood a plump angel in a pale-pink wedding gown.

Crowley pulled his glasses down his nose and blinked. "Yeah, so…" he started to say, intending to follow up with _I'm really sorry,_ but instead of saying that and sauntering away, Crowley looked back down at the woman who was no longer frowning up at him.

No, she was beaming. "Oh! Are you with Mr Fell?"

Fury now looked so, well, unfurious, so bright eyed and pleased, that Crowley had another one of those reflexes of his, where he briefly forgot he was no longer one of the Celestial Host, and so for a moment he wanted to _be nice._ One entire moment too many.

"OH MY GOD! Your his fiancé! Come in!"

Fury grabbed Crowley's hand before Crowley realised what the hell was happening and in the blink of a snake's eye (they don't), he was standing beside the dais and Fury—"I'm Alice, by the way"—was rolling off in search of tea.

Crowley watched her go instead of looking at the angel in the wedding dress. Until the angel said, "I'm Aziraphale, do we know each other?"

Crowley turned, peered over his sunglasses, and said, "Uh, no. I was just sauntering by when your friend over there decided we're getting married."

"Oh that's nice," Aziraphale said, distracted by his own reflection. "Do you like it?"

"What now?"

The angel leaned down from his dais and whispered, "Demons have a very good fashion-sense I've heard, so do you think this would be a good gown in which to attend a wedding?"

The angel lifted his chin and looked serenely somewhere over Crowley's head, waiting for an opinion. On his pink, off-the-shoulder wedding gown. As if in cahoots with it all, the sun peeped through shiny plate glass, turning the angel's curly white hair into a halo.

Know this: there are constants across most of the many multiverses.

Skies are nearly always up.

Rain is mostly always wet.

And generally the guests do _not_ wear wedding dresses to a wedding.

*

"I really didn't know." Aziraphale stirred his tea and sighed at his Earl Gray reflection. "One of my bookstore customers invited me, and then I saw a shop window and it said wedding dresses. Of course I thought that meant dresses for _attending_ a wedding." More stirring. More sighing. "You see how I could make that mistake?"

Slumped across the tiny restaurant table, Crowley propped his chin on his hand and made a moue that meant _no_ but could conceivably be interpreted as _yes_ if you squinted. Saving him from saying something both kind and a lie—a conundrum for a demon—a bow-tied server glided over to their table with a silver tea pot, topped up Aziraphale's cup, then glided away like a tuxedoed ship.

"Alice was really very awfully nice though, and she brought out so many dresses for me to try. I got completely caught up."

The angel poured a delicate dollop of cream into his freshened cup, then put in a quarter teaspoon of sugar, another, a third, and then a final fourth. Crowley watched with fascination.

"Are you sure you won't have anything? My treat. It's the absolute least I can do." Aziraphale tapped his teaspoon gently on the side of his china cup and looked significantly at the hand doing so and Crowley's long-fingered one beside it.

Each hand wore wedding bands tastefully festooned with a winged skull, and where Aziraphale's silver band had black diamonds, and a large white stone clasped in the loving clutch of what could only be seen as claws, Crowley wore its Stygian reflection of black gold, with tiny white diamonds and a central ebony stone.

The demon had magicked them up in the wedding boutique, somewhere between the angel's stammering awkwardness once he understood his wedding dress error, and just in case Fury was about to get furious again. Instead she'd filled them with tea, cooed "I love first meetings," and sent them on their way.

Another server pulled up aside their table and set down a silver platter. On it were a half dozen sugar-dusted cream horns and the angel's leaning reflection. "Oh these look magnificent. Won't you join me," he tempted.

Nothing happened for rather awhile and then Aziraphale dropped his voice and said, "Do have just one. Please?"

Rising from his slouch (which he was also practicing), Crowley looked at the angel, then their ringed fingers and with a devilish little grin said, "Yes dear."

—  
_Look, when someone shows a wedding dress and you're in a writerly mood, naturally Aziraphale_ in _it comes to mind. So go see[his dress and of course their rings, too](https://atlinmerrick.tumblr.com/post/189196159104/fic-all-dressed-up-good-omens-im-aziraphale-do/). Now go, please look at the ring creators' website of, uh…[of wonders](https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/DesignMasters). P.S. Feel free to prompt this series any ol' time. First meetings for our Ineffables!_


End file.
